


He Jests At Scars

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M, Les Miserables - Freeform, budding friendship, how Les Miserables SHOULD HAVE ended, intense psychological trauma, thwarted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4246263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After climbing out of the Paris sewer with the inert body of Marius Pontmercy, Jean Valjean expected to be captured by Inspector Javert. Now, after being released one final time, he has the ability to return the favor on the other man's behalf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Jean Valjean tells Javert “You were wrong, and you have always been wrong about me,” he feels neither ire nor irritation, but only pity where hatred once burned in his heart for this dogged cop. But when he sees Javert again, striding along the boulevard—as the former convict leans exhaustedly over the inert body of young Marius Pontmercy—the Inspector seems neither pitiable nor imposing; he is someone that Jean Valjean can respect. Especially when Javert takes Jean’s word on Marius’ condition without comment or condemnation; when he checks the boy’s heartbeat as carefully and tenderly as the other man had moments ago checked his wounds; when he swoops the student up, and, as Valjean hails a cab, lends his booming voice and commanding presence to order the driver to haste himself to Marius’ grandfather’s house— 

“And fetch a doctor on the way!”, handing a bundle of franc notes up to the driver before accepting Valjean’s hand in a firm yet hesitant shake . . . As the ramrod-straight Inspector turns away, Valjean realises that he now feels affection for the resolute man who had spent so much of his life tracking him down! And also, he realises with astonishment, that he had become a better man in part because of Javert.

Thus, much later that night, after he had spoken to old Monsieur Pontmercy at length and looked in on Marius, Jean Valjean had sent word with a porter to Cosette in order to be sure that she would not worry about him. As he moved to latch the door once more after sending the telegram, intending to stay in a vigil for the remainder of the night over the young man that his adopted daughter loves, he sees a man moving slumped and slow towards the largest bridge across the Seine. He would have thought the man was merely tired, had he not spotted the shining insignia as the man passed beneath the bright golden beam of a streetlamp, or seen the gigantic Inspector’s cap. Javert. Instantly Jean Valjean is off and running after him. He thought of shouting, “Stop! Police!” But this was not the time to play word games—Javert looked as though he was planning to do something harmful to himself. Valjean recognised it partly because he had been in the same position himself nearly thirty years ago, but also because he had never seen the policeman slouch even once in his life. Javert had perfect posture. He stopped abruptly in the middle of the bridge before striding to the edge, flinging his cap away and swinging a leg over the railing as if he meant to jump off. 

Valjean comes forward with his heart a-pound.

“Valjean,” he has been spotted by Javert, whose voice is heavy, so incredibly slow and heavy. “Who are you, man? What sort of devil are you? You had me caught so neatly, a rat in a trap, and yet you refused to spring it! You chose to let me go free—all it would take was a flick of that knife . . . vengeance was yours and you gave me back my life.” Jean smiles sadly and spreads his arms wide.

“I am the poorest of devils, Inspector. A mere man no better than any other man.” Javert snorts.

“Before you said ‘no worse’. Now it’s ‘no better’. That is quite a trick.”

“No, it is the truth. I could not have done what you did tonight. You saved that boy.”

“No, it was you who did that, you sorry excuse for a criminal! I was ready to nab you.”

“Yet you waited,” Valjean says gently and quietly. “You ordered the carriage to bring him home. That was enough.”

“NO!!!” Javert shakes his head violently. “That single act is not—it cannot possibly be enough!” He pounds his chest as if he means to tear his trunk apart. “Those students back at the barricade—I killed them. I killed them all.”

“No, you were captured,”

“Don’t question me, dammit! I gave the orders; I chose to join the students in disguise to give information to my men. I taunted those . . . children . . . when I was found out. That means I KILLED THEM!!!! I am not fit to live, to do anything more than hunt you down. And now even that has been taken from me. I must be punished. And the greatest punishment to one who fears God is to leave this world without His grace. And so—” with a grunt, he heaves his other leg over the railing and places his hand on the ice-cold stone to balance himself precariously on the ledge. The erstwhile criminal stands back, helpless. There is no bishop to save Javert as there was to save him. There is just Jean himself, who can only manage to articulate,

“Javert, you can change, you can become good. There is so much more you can do with your life.”

“No more! Never more! There can only be order OR chaos, you or me! I’ll escape now from this world—from the world of YOU, Valjean! There is nowhere I can turn; there is no way to go on!!!” he tenses to leap into the void, but Valjean, all 200 plus pounds of him, charges forward and seizes the back of Javert’s thick pea coat. 

“Well, if you’re going down,” he pants out, “You will just have to drag me with you.”

“Valjean, let me go!” Javert growls. “NOW, or I’ll—”

“Jump? You would be responsible for my death then. Refuse to jump? Even better—than my stunt will have helped you.”

“No, it will not, because I would be in your debt again, and I’ll be damned if I live in the debt of a thief.” He means to go silent, to stop himself from letting anything slip, but it is too late. The words have been said.

“Ah,” Valjean becomes thoughtful for a moment, though he doesn’t loosen his grip—on the contrary, he shifts his hands to grasp the Inspector’s upper arms. “I see. Well, I believe I would be indebted to YOU if you were to climb back onto this bridge. I think your doing that would actually save my life.” Javert scoffs at this. “Or, you could continue with this venture. I won’t let go when you jump, and my extra weight will keep you down far beneath the Seine’s surface. Your death would occur quicker on account of my aid.” 

Damn. I would owe even my death to him as a debt, thinks Javert furiously. “Why, Valjean? Why are you doing this to me?!”

“Because over these seemingly endless years, you have helped me. It was due in part to your ceaseless pursuit that I remained so good. I began because of God; I endured because of you. Thank you.” He is utterly sincere. The officer can hear the sincerity in the other man’s voice, and he sees it when he shifts his head to find Valjean’s face inches from his own. Along with sincerity, Jean Valjean’s features are suffused with great compassion. Javert cannot fail to see this, but neither is it something that he feels able (or willing) to accept or comprehend. 

“Why on Earth are you looking at me like that?” He demands. Valjean decides to reveal his heart—he may not get another chance to do so, especially if Javert has his way on this bridge.

“Javert,” he begins quietly. “We have been through a lot together, you and I. Fifty years—it’s a long while to be chasing someone. There is so much to admire in that. I admire you, Javert, and I respect you. You are damned good at what you do, and proud of it too. You are as driven as anyone, to be able to rise so far out of the gutter and leave it behind. You are an upright man, a moral man, a lawful man.” Javert makes a movement—either one of protest, or to hurl himself headlong into the Seine. Valjean tightens his grip. “Let me finish! Your morals are much more stringent than mine, but they kept me grounded and going. You once said men like us can never change . . . but I have changed for the better because of you. Will—will you let me try to help you change too? Please.” 

Jean Valjean does not plead the way he has before, and Javert does not react in the way he has before. He relaxes back into his erstwhile quarry’s arms and gazes up into the heavens. Not all stars remain in place, Javert realises. Some rotate around one another in a dual sphere, each moving in sync with the other—never departing, because they depend completely upon one another.


	2. Chapter 2

After Jean Valjean left Marius’ and Cosette’s house for the final time, he could barely lift himself into the carriage that would take him away, back to the abbey where he began his life in Paris with his adopted daughter all those years ago. He does not know how he will live there now that he is alone because this time he realises what it truly means to be alone. The only other person who may perhaps know and understand this feeling is Inspector Javert. And he does not know how to contact the police officer. It wasn’t exactly his first priority to get the other man’s house number after rescuing him from the bridge at Pont Nuf. Javert had not been forthcoming about anything other than his irritation on that night, despite the fact that the two of them drank several growlers of fine port together at the tavern closest to the oldest bridge in the city. Perhaps he can send a runner to the police station? Valjean thinks tiredly a week later. Gavroche, the young boy from the barricade, is who he most wishes he could send; but he will have to make do with old Faunchelevant, the man he rescued from under the cart, and pray that the man can make himself known to Javert.

***

Inspector Javert sits in his office, poring over old case files, struggling to reconcile his past lawful deeds with the personal moral compass that he has come to listen to and recognise within himself. He rode his horse through the Paris streets for a few nights in a row, thinking about all of the people he arrested and put away without listening to their stories because the other sides were so convincing; either on account of the person’s wealth or as a result of their societal status. He especially recalls a young girl called—what was it? Pinion? Peregrine? No . . . Ponine! That was it. Short for Eponine; she was the daughter of that reprehensible ingrate Thernadier, who had given Javert license to continue hunting Valjean after nine entire years with nothing. 

Javert now recalls the goodness of the daughter in vivid contrast to the evil of her father, and recalls to his shame how he had listened to said evil father in matters of police business despite Thernadier’s obviously base and cruel nature. Eponine had gone to the barricade dressed as a young man in order to aid the students—especially the boy that she loved, Marius. Javert recalls the power of their affection that stretched across the lines of social typicality. He was the grandson of one of the wealthiest men in Paris, while she was a waif of a girl forced to roam the streets, possibly doing . . . unclean things. Yet he had cared for her, this rich young lad; maybe not in the way she would have liked, but he had loved her nevertheless.  


As the policeman ponders this, there is a knock upon his office door.

“Enter,” he calls out gruffly. His young secretary pokes her head in at the door.

“Good morning, Inspector,” is her greeting. “I have an old man out here who wishes to speak to you. He says it is urgent.” Javert sighs heavily. 

“How urgent, mademoiselle? Does he assume I have no cure for a hangover, just as I had no cure for re-railing the track of my life those several nights ago?” The woman is confused.

“Sir?”

“Never mind. What does he want?”

“He says he comes at the behest of a friend. And … he seems truly distressed.” Javert nods and sits down again, pressing his fingertips into his temples.

“Let him come in.” She bows and retreats, ushering in a wizened old man with skin as dark and wrinkled as a nut from the hazel tree. Javert makes a slight attempt to appear less severe and stern by indicating for the man to sit down. He refuses and remains still standing.

“Please, monsieur, I would like to speak quickly. I must go in haste to the apothecary for a friend—the same who requested I come for you to see.”

“Who is this friend, and what does he want you to tell me?” With a shuddering breath and tears standing in his eyes, the old man shakily replies,

“He is Monsieur Madeline, Inspector; and he is dying.” Madeline! This brings Javert up short. He remembers Valjean being called by that name when he was a mayor—more than twenty years ago now. The officer stands, imposing by default.

“How do you know this? Did he exhort you to tell me so?”

“No, sir, he did not; he only bade me tell you that he has helped another as he meant to help you by cloistering himself alone.” The old man, Faunchelevant, clasps his hands in appeal. “From my own sight and knowledge does the remainder of this information come. He sits and sighs and does not eat, and he has—lost—near all of the prodigious strength that he once used to free me from beneath my own oxcart.” It is this intelligence that exhorts Javert to grab his coat and call to his secretary that he will be taking an early break for his midday meal. She stands shocked, watching him follow the old fellow out of the station—her employer has never taken an early break; not ONE since she came to be in his employ ten years ago!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert locates Jean Valjean at the convent where he is staying.

Javert follows Faunchelevant quickly through the streets that grow seedier or statelier depending upon which way they turn in Paris. He stops at a corner bakery and buys a few baguettes, perhaps under the strange impression that, because Valjean had stolen similar such bread so long ago, if he is given some LAWFULLY this time, he may be less inclined to starve to death? But if starvation is not what ails him …Javert hopes the man will at least be hungry enough (or polite enough) to take the offering out of simple courtesy. 

The inspector’s heart sinks inside him when they reach the place where Jean Valjean is staying. He is in a convent; and by the looks of things—as Javert is ushered in and listens to the words of a few of the sisters—he has come here expecting to die. It was here that he and the girl Cosette sought shelter when they first arrived in Paris, one sister explained; and here where his last shelter will be: with the Lord God. Javert crosses himself automatically when she speaks the Lord’s name, but he is determined that Jesu not take Valjean so soon. “I must go in alone, if that is possible, sister,” he tells the nun who has led him down the hall to the small room where Valjean is sitting and staring fixedly at a pair of ornate silver candlesticks, lovingly polished. She nods and bids him enter at his leisure. He bows and thanks her before tapping softly on the door.

“Enter!” croaks the ex-convict, before being convulsed by a racking cough. This nearly stops Javert. He does not like to be near the sick—his own mother had died of a breathing sickness in the jail cell where he was born; he had been grown enough that he remembered her racking coughs and the blood that dripped from her lips. He almost leaves, but then recalls that Valjean is as alone as he, Javert, had been that night upon the bridge. And so he enters, removing his hat, and ducks around to stand before his erstwhile quarry, now his friend. “Javert?” Valjean’s voice is soft and disbelieving and his eyes have grown wide. “Can it be? Is it really you, come to me in this darkness?”

“Yes, it is I. But I do not come in darkness, Valjean.” The inspector takes out a flint and lights each candlestick. The glow of the twin flames cause the silver to sparkle and shine. Jean looks at the candles and then at Javert; his eyes are wet.

“‘God has raised you out of darkness’, he said. Ah, bless you, Bishop! You are right again,” and he leans forward to try to clear a seat. “Here, my friend, sit if you can; I am sorry this room is not clean, I had not expected anyone to visit, since I only wanted Monsieur Faunchelevant to tell you that I was now alone.” Javert dusts off the chair Valjean has indicated and sits down upon it.

“Did the child leave you so bereft?!” Javert asks harshly, unable to help himself. “That is no honourable way to treat a father—thief or not. Surrogate or not.” Valjean smiles tiredly.

“Do not distress yourself, my friend. It—was of—my own accord—that I left—Cosette. She has been wed—to Marius Pontmercy, and they—will be—most happy.”

“And you; do you not deserve to be happy?” Javert cannot believe he is saying it, just as he cannot believe that he is doing any of this. But this disbelief does not stop him. He must know the truth of Jean Valjean in order to save him, just as the other man saved him. He thought he had figured it out completely over the many years he had spent hunting this escaped convict, but he had been mistaken; he thought he understood a little bit on the bridge that night, but apparently not. “You seemed happy enough on the night you saved me…can a few weeks cause so great a change?” Javert cannot help the dismay that shoots through him after this thought. 

Valjean laughs kindly and pats the police inspector’s knee. His hand, once so strong, trembles violently and Javert, on impulse, firmly grasps and squeezes it in his own. As if he can return even a vestige of Valjean’s former strength to him by sheer power of will. How ridiculous he is! But Javert cannot let go; he cannot leave Jean Valjean in this sad situation; he will not allow this decent man to die alone. 

So he sits and listens to the erstwhile prisoner 24601 tell him of his revelation to young Marius; how he had been ordered to leave and had begged the boy not to tell Cosette the reason for his departure, to say only that he must leave today to go on a journey far away. Javert feels his own eyes begin to fill with tears as the old man—for Valjean seems old, so incredibly old and weighted down for the first time since Javert has followed him—tells how he was willing to forgo his own happiness for the sake of his child’s. For both of his children, as Marius is in effect his son now. He presses Jean’s hand and offers a consoling shoulder, marveling at the fact that he would never have suffered this man to touch him a mere fortnight ago, that Jean Valjean had been unclean to him then, but now he is the cleanest and brightest and holiest human being Javert has ever met. And young Marius was both uncouth and unkind to turn his father-in-law out of the premises in such a way, no matter what Valjean had asked of him. Javert says so, with the old fierce fire kindling in his light eyes once again. Jean Valjean looks up at him with thankfulness as a compassionate tear runs down his own careworn cheek. He leans against the police inspector’s chest for but an instant, feeling the thick cloth of Javert’s peacoat rub against his face.

***

And then the two men jump in surprise as the door to the room opens again, this time with force, and a young blonde woman—Javert recognises her as the girl who went with Valjean to give alms to the poor—as well as the young man whom they rescued from the barricade come rushing in. “Papa! Papa, I do not understand—are you all right?! Why did you go away?” She cries out piteously. Valjean gasps as though he was drowning and has just managed to get a last gulp of air. He reaches out and grasps her hand in his other one, leaving Javert to stand and move back into the shadows; though he does not let go of the police inspector’s grip.

“Cosette! My child—am I forgiven now? Thank God, thank God I’ve lived to see this day!” Javert clears his throat in emotion and looks away. How could the ex-convict have seriously believed he would not see the day his adopted child would forgive him for his absence? Does he truly not know the kind of man he is?? This is exemplified when the young man, Marius, drops to his knees beside Cosette and grips Valjean’s wrist.

“It’s YOU who must forgive US, honest fool—it’s you who must forgive us, thankless man! It’s thanks to you that I am living . . . and again, I lay down my life at your feet.” Valjean shares a quick look with Javert—the inspector is disbelieving; how on earth could the boy know that Valjean had saved him? While Jean’s face is suffused with pure thankfulness that the truth has at last come to light. Cosette has whirled her head to stare at her new husband, eyes wide and startled as he continued: “Cosette, your father is a saint. When they wounded me, he took me from the barricade; carried me like a babe and brought me home...” his voice chokes off with emotion and the girl lets out a joyful, disbelieving sob. “...to you,” he finished.

The girl’s eyes are wide and disbelieving, so Javert, though it may cost him, steps forward into the light again. Both children jump, and there is a sharp intake of breath from Marius as he stands, his face dark as a thundercloud. “You!” he spits out. “Dear God, if it were not for the sake of this my father and my dear Cosette, my hands would even now be about your throat! How DARE you come here—do you come to arrest him???” Marius is shouting now, heedless to the scene he is causing or the fact that Valjean seems fine with Javert being there. “Oh wretched devil of a man, you who killed my friends by your conniving, your falseness on behalf of the law!” He stops, sobbing, remembering the last time he had seen this man, and Cosette, though she does not understand any of this, holds her husband in her arms and tries to soothe his tears. Javert stands, leaden, cold; he cannot say anything to justify himself... and so he shall not. He must not. He will say what he must to convince Cosette of her father’s decency, and that is it.

“I cannot justify myself to you, Monsieur Pontmercy, and I have no wish to,” Javert says quietly. Marius makes a sharp movement as if to strike Javert, but the inspector takes a step back from him, raises his palm, and continues: “The cruelty and injustice of my actions at the barricade will forever haunt me, every moment of the rest of my life. But this man does not deserve that.” Javert puts his hand on Valjean’s shoulder. “This man went to the barricade to watch over you, boy, misguided as you might be. He stayed to protect you and he spared me as well, though he needed only to kill me to stop my endless hunt for him. And after he spared me, I saw him again with your body—he took you through those sewers, risking his life, and told me where he would be if he came out of this alive. I would find him at Rue du la Plumet, Nombre 5. And so I let him go.” Marius makes a disbelieving noise and Javert chooses to ignore it. “After he exited the sewers, he placed you on the Seine’s banks and that was where I saw him again, wild with fear for you—he could not tell if you were breathing, and I helped him to see that you were. Then I helped him to hail a cab and pay the driver to return your love, madame,” this to Cosette, “to his house that night where he could be doctored. Your father did all that. He is a thousand times better than I; he protects rather than harms, saves rather than destroys. And he has taught me much—that night, today, and always.” Cosette bites her lip and her eyes are bright with adoration as she looks back at her father and says quietly,

“This is true, Papa?” He smiles.

“Now you are here, again beside me. You know the truth—now I can die ... in peace; because my life is blessed.” 

“NO! You will live, Papa, you’re going to live—it’s too soon, too soon to say goodbye.”

“Ah, yes, Cosette—forbid me now to die!” He smiles at her and touches her nose. “I’ll obey.” His voice catches and he squeezes Javert’s hand in a spasm of pain. “... I will try.”

“You had better do more than TRY, Valjean!” the inspector growls. The ex-convict smiles. 

“Javert, will you go to my nightstand? There is a letter on it—for Cosette.” Letting go of the other man’s hand, Javert crosses to the nightstand and picks up the letter, written on creamy paper in a flowing hand. Marvelling at the evenness of the penmanship and wondering about the writing within, Javert hands the envelope to the girl. She takes it in a slightly shaking hand. “On this page—I write my last confession. Read it well when I—at last—am sleeping. It’s the story of a man who turned from hating...” he takes a shuddery breath. “A man who only learned to love when you—were in his keeping.”

“Come now, Valjean, my chains will never bind you,” Javert says to the other man, desperately trying to get him to hang on as his daughter begins to cry in earnest. “All your griefs are at last, at last behind you. You’ve done so much to help me, and surely you know that you are not done here? But when you do go, I am certain you will be with God.” Marius nods and agrees vehemently; Cosette is still crying too hard to speak, but she smiles and squeezes her father’s hand, and for him that is enough. He takes another shuddery breath and closes his eyes. “NO—you will NOT GO, DAMN YOU!!!” Javert shouts, grabbing and shaking Valjean’s shoulders, and he opens his eyes.

“Be easy, Javert, my friend; I am simply resting.” 

“I will go to find him some medicine,” says Marius, leaping to his feet. Javert nods.

“Here are francs enough for a doctor, boy.” he hands money to the young monsieur, who looks back at him, slightly haughty. 

“I am of the Pontmercy family, Inspector. We do not need your money.” Javert nods infinitesimally. For a moment he had forgot.

“Apologies. But do mention my name if it takes a while for the doctor to be on his way.” The young man stares at him without saying anything and then finally nods in acquiesce. As her husband heads for the door, Cosette leaps up wildly.

“Marius—”

“Do not fret, my love.” He gently presses her hand. “I am going to get a doctor for your father. Stay here with him and the Inspector.” Marius kisses his wife’s cheek and smiles at her. “I shall be back very soon.”

She nods. “All right.” Her features are so trusting; she has not seen the ugliness of the world, or at least, not allowed it to taint her, Javert thought, stunned. But as he turns back to the man before him, he realises this is the reason. Jean Valjean has infused the lives of those around him, starting with his daughter’s, with decency and grace, and Javert knows now that he shall be in Valjean’s debt forever. But, he reasoned, there are worse debts in which to be than the debt of a friend.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Victor Hugo for penning such a marvelous piece of literature that made me bawl my eyes out, dammit
> 
> Thank you to whoever decided that Les Mis should be a musical (an opera, actually, since there is nothing BUT singing);
> 
> And perhaps most important to this work, thank you to Russell Crowe and Hugh Jackman for being such good mates in real life that, after watching their performance in the 2012 film, I could not fail to imagine Valjean and Javert becoming friends as well.
> 
> The title of this work comes from William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scenes i and ii: "BENVOLIO-Go then, for 'tis in vain / To seek him here that means not to be found. [Exit with Mercutio] ROMEO-He jests at scars that never felt a wound".


End file.
